A band doesn’t have to be legendary, or even great, to be definitive. Case in point: Hooray For Earth. If you consider “alt synth-rock” to be a thing—and you should—any given release from the Brooklyn band could be considered state of the art. In the three-year stretch between their first EP and 2011’s True Loves, their aesthetic evolved from a less polychromatic rendering of MGMT’s Mario Paint symphonies to a parallel of the percussive, vaguely mystic electro-pop streamlining of Animal Collective and Yeasayer. Three years later, Racyreflects where we’re currently at; this type of band no longer has any pretense of being “indie rock” in anything but a nominal sense. Racy is big, it’s bold, and positions its creators closer to "pop", only to reveal them as a pop band by context rather than nature.
And they were in a much more flattering context three years ago. True Loves was stacked with relatively bold, overt singles and equally stacked with the requisite, billowy deep cuts like “Black Trees”, so defined by atmosphere and drums that a doom metal cover by the Atlas Moth maintained its original character. Racy unifies those disparate aims of Hooray For Earth and the result is an album where everything could be the single—which ultimately has the reverse effect, as little stands out amidst its consistent, ingratiating quite-goodness. They’ve once again enlisted producer Chris Coady, who’s worked on records for Cold Cave,Future Islands, and Beach House—the guy knows how to make alt synth-rock loud and direct. Any semblance of roundabout drum circle percussion gets pointed endlessly forward and upward; guitars are no longer choppy, the synthesizers are in bolder neons and fluorescents.
As a result, Racy is just what it promises: sleek, aerodynamic, and defined by its vertical momentum. The entire album is comprised of songs taking flight in some way—while “Keys” zooms skyward like a 747, the title track slowly elevates like a hot air balloon. It can occasionally be thrilling, as with any occasion where the human will for technological advance conquers natural limitations. And though this is 2014, most bands of Hooray For Earth’s ilk are reminiscent of a time when Big Music was an actual term; when U2 and Echo and the Bunnymen and Big Country inverted post-punk’s negation to create a new, more fantastic, and spiritual state of existence. The songs on Racy follow suit and have a synaesthetic effect; they’re widescreen, panoramic, HD—and I can’t remember for the life of me what actually fills out these expanses.
Noel Heroux is a strong vocalist, maintaining his composure when most in this genre are sucking helium. His tousled tone has more in common with a garage rocker and no matter how demure he sounds on any given verse, he hits his choruses with gusto. But he’s not really an expressive vocalist, and all of his words slide right off Racy’s glassy surface, such as when he sings, “As soon as I said it/ Immediately regret it”, without any sense of what he said, why he said it, and why it’s regrettable. “Last, First” channels Joe Jackson’s “Steppin’ Out” in both the concept and the bouncy synth chords, evoking a night on the town as a kind of spiritual purification (“Socialite, for tonight/ You take me out”). It just turns out to be another muddled rumination on a relationship in flux —“I was acting over the line/ Saying you were mine.” Is it a breakup song? An argument? A tortured confession about unrequited love? Credit can be due for keeping it open-ended, but like so many other moments on Racy, it feels direct and intentional without revealing the intentions themselves.
